Fog

The road ahead vanished into the fog. Darkness closed in around us, isolating the car in a world of gray. The white line on the center of the pavement was our lifeline to safety. The headlights tried, but they could not penetrate the darkness. The side of the road, the trees, the road signs that should have been visible were not. There was no other car, no other visible thing on the road. This car, that white line, were all that existed. The fog had consumed all that was familiar. We had no choice. We continued. We followed that white line.

Sometimes when I click publish and send my blog post out to the Internet, I feel isolated. I wonder if anyone cares about what I write. Does anyone read it? I look for comments that aren’t there. Does that mean that no one reads my post or that what I write is not worth taking a moment to post a comment?

My mind clings to one thought. First and foremost, my writing is for me—my attempt to record the little stories that happen in my life and to process what they mean to me.

I have made my choice. I will continue. I will blog the things that are important to me.